Best Self Importance Poems
All the love he missed
was freely available
and he never knew
Poem Ego
Ego leads us in the right direction
It is a means of satisfaction
It is a crown that never lets us down
It soothes the heart and touches soul
A man without ego has no goal
He who bows before someone has lost his light
A man with ego is a man with sight
It dispels darkness and night
It is against unjustified acts
It is the hub of theosophical facts
O seeker If you are stumbling in the dark
Generate in yourself the divine spark
It will light up your life and you will become the moon
You will become a Saint and you will become high noon.
Written By Abad Ur Rehman Khan
Poet Of Pakistan
dishonesty so insulting it is unforgivable
so very sure that what you planned was acceptable
when you are that selfish there is no reason to know you
and you see it as effort made an effort that I owe you
All you do is lie in vain you haven’t any uses
who needs people around them so absolutely useless
call yourself a mate when you’re so blatantly a user
I don’t want you in my life you’re just a tragic loser
only doing what you like and only when it suits you
you can live your lonely life where nobody includes you
and even though you’re self inflicting
you can call yourself a victim
a story that you tell yourself
now nobody will listen
Is it truly death they fear, or the unraveling of their illusory self-importance,
as they tread through existence, erecting fragile monoliths of their ephemeral legacy,
believing their names will resonate through ages, as if permanence were a divine gift,
a privilege born not of vanity, but of an illusion of eternity that never ends,
watching as each moment turns into thin stone, losing its luster.
Yet history erodes with precision, turning emperors into mere footnotes,
scholars become misattributed quotes, lost in the wind of forgetting that erases their mark,
and if the architects of civilizations succumb to oblivion, mere ephemeral mortals, why do they think they are spared?
Why do they believe the thread of the narrative depends on their presence, that without them, time would stop,
that the world would unravel in the absence of a fleeting presence, dissolving like a dream?
Do they fear death or the harsh realization that they were never essential,
that their existence was just a faint echo in a vast and indifferent universe,
where stars extinguish and are reborn without caring for our fragile stories,
in the stream of consciousness, their monoliths of vanity crumble into absolute silence,
as if their entire significance were just a shadow in an endless dance.
A shadow among thousands of shadows in the dance of time, which swallows everything without blinking,
and thus, perhaps the true fear is not in the last breath, but in the silence that follows,
in the quiet that no longer whispers their names, in the eternity that continues without noticing them,
only with the wind erasing footprints on the merciless and unforgiving sands of time,
where only the echoes of unfulfilled dreams remain to haunt the sky with lost memories.
You are who you are
no matter your origin
you are who you are
no matter what happened
you are who you are
no matter the future
you are who you are
no matter the past
you are who you are
no matter the mirror
you are who you are
no matter the day, week, month, or year
you are who you are
through all the pain
through all of life
through every tear
shed and bled
your figure stays strong
you stand, you sit, you lean, you lay
you are who you are
and you wouldn't have it any other way